It Must Be Dumb-Ass Driver Friday

Up to a few minutes ago, I was having a bit of a morning. Two different people on two different streets cut me off when I was the only other driver on the road, and my drive to work is only about 15 minutes. My car is small and silver, but it does have mass, and it does not have a cloaking mechanism, so if you hit me, it will have physical results, and I mean that in the physics sense of the word! Newtonian physics! Look 'em up, and stay the shit in your lane!

Fortunately, after being at work for a bit and having some tea and laughing with coworkers about yellow squash that looked eerily like trucker balls, I started feeling better, and I am grateful. I really didn't want to be in a mood because of one or two little things. A trick that my therapist has been suggesting for helping me alter my brain chemistry is to do a few semi-smiles. Apparently, you can trick you brain into believing it's happy if you use the muscles in your face to go though the actions of what you would be doing if you were happy already. The good thing it doesn't have to be a big, gigantic, fake-as-shit SMILE! It can be a little cutesy grin, going up to the muscles around the eyes. That triggers chemical releases, and after doing a few of these, like doing sit-ups for your face, you'll feel better. I think I'm going to try this a lot today and see if it changes things.

Today was also my first payday, and even though there was an error with how many hours got submitted, most of my paycheck is accurate, and that means I can get some grocery shopping done tomorrow and start to restore my Paleo pantry. My agent at the temp agency is awesome, and is already working on getting the rest of my hours submitted. So I can officially go into money-saving-mode and work towards having enough money to move in the next year or two. The moment I start thinking about this move, though, my anxiety kicks into high gear, and I have to remind myself to take things one step at a time. What do I need to do right now? I need to catch up on bills and save some money. That's what I need to focus on, and not on the overwhelming possibilities of The Future. I do not have to do everything all at once for me to be successful, and trying to get all of my plans fulfilled immediately is what causes problems. And, more importantly, one bag of super yummy smoked salmon is not going to completely derail my plans! (And, most importantly, as of today, I'm going to start submitting my time cards online, so that error likely won't happen again! Self-five for fixing a mistake! *self-five Barney Stinson style*)

I am sooooo sleeping in tomorrow. Maybe a glass of wine before bed tonight, too. Who knows, I might go crazy and watch "Waiting For Guffman" and snuggle with my puppy. Do I know how to live it up on a Friday night or what! As for the rest of tomorrow, if the remainder of my paycheck is restored, I might get a long-overdue haircut. I'm starting to look like Chewbacca, but since I don't have access to the Millennium Falcon and I don't have the shiny cross-torso belt, I should pay for a little grooming. I do not cut my own hair because I am not an uber-pretentious art student or an East German in the 80s, so I do not need to look like I am either of those things.

I'm Already Dreaming About My New Job

A slow tempo at work so far this morning. I appreciate that, since I didn't sleep great last night; my body isn't used to the new routine yet, and while I've been unsuccessful at falling asleep earlier, I've been too successful at waking up earlier... as in, "I've slept for a few hours, it must be time to get up now!... at 4:52am... crap..." I'll get back into a good sleep pattern, but it'll take some time, and until that happens, I'm going to feel a bit zombie-ish in the mornings. But it is funny to wake up during a dream about my new job of answering phones and placing orders; I was asking a dream customer if they needed Product A or the subset of Product A when my alarm went off, and I giggled that I've been working on my pronunciation of these products in my sleep.

My brother and his fiance and their 6-month-old Toby are visiting for a few days next week. A 16 hour drive from Indiana with a baby. That's commitment. This will be the first time I get to meet the little chubber, and I am so excited that I actually can't put it into words. He's my youngest nephew, and so far, this brother's only kid, and they've been traveling a bit now that Toby's eating solid foods and working on toofers, meeting family members that don't live nearby... which is all of us, really. The cousins have met, and the pictures were adorable. I'm excited to see how my dogs, particularly my new girl, will like Toby, especially since Alice is only slightly bigger than him!

I knew a long time ago that I would need to experience some extraordinary circumstances for me to have my own kids. I completely adore kids, and have been told by people that I trust that I would be an excellent parent, but have never been in a position as an adult to take care of kids the way I think they deserve. I have either been struggling with income and my career, or depression and health issues, or a total lack of a love life (which, for me, is a non-negotiable piece if I would ever have kids; no fucking way I'm going to be a mom and feel like I can pull it off without the father being a partner in it all-- it's not fair to me, and it's not fair to these hypothetical kids). This makes visiting with my brothers' kids a loaded situation. On one hand, I am excited to be their Crazy Aunt, the aunt that teaches them how to belch loudly and properly when they're old enough, or will take them to funky exhibits at a science museum, or gets them rare copies of their favorite books to celebrate a random Tuesday. Being two times zones away from them and not being able to afford regular visits to them makes a lot of this impossible right now, but that's why I'm working my booty off, to get some financial security so I can make them a bigger part of my life. On the other hand, I occasionally see my brothers' kids as reminders of how disparate my idea of who I want to be for them and who I actually am for them are. I've not had great time being an adult (... understatement), and in so many ways, I still feel like a kid that needs someone else to do the heavy lifting. How am I supposed to be the aunt I want to be if I can't accomplish other things I would consider to be essential to my identity? This line of thinking takes me down the rabbit hole with lead weights strapped to my ankles, and who would want that emotional baggage attached to their niece and nephews?

During my last session with my therapist, I found myself saying how disappointed I am that I need money to be happy. I will admit that money allows for independence and freedom and opportunity, and those are things I am happy to have in my life. I also don't see myself searching for other methods of getting independence and freedom and opportunity outside of money; I'm not that brave, and I'm not that willing to live in a van. But then, talking it out, I realized that I would feel this same disappointment if I was so dependent on something other than money. If I had to rely on friends, for example, to the same degree that I rely on money, and if that reliance impacted every part of my life with the same intensity, then I would be upset that I needed other people to make me happy. So I guess I'm not as materialistic as I thought, a trait that I'm generally disapproving of. Things or people or concepts tied into my basic security are difficult to accept, because for as much as I would love and have worked to be an independent and self-reliant person, and for as much as I value that trait, I know that it's unrealistic to believe I am an island unto myself. I believe strongly in the fact that what makes Life on Earth function is the cooperation between all things, and the awareness and respect of how other people influence your daily life, however remotely or immediately that may be, is crucial. It's a huge part of my philosophical and political makeup. But apparently, that belief applies to every except me. I should be judged separately. And having that in my head, even if its volume is turned waaaaaay down, causes me problems.

Tricky stuff, this whole "being alive" business.

How I Learned To Love (Okay, Tolerate) 7:00 AM

My new job starts at 8:00am, a time of day of which I have never been particularly fond. So that means I have to wake up around 6:15am, and if 8:00 sucked, then 6:15 is the devil's ass-crack-of-dawn. I am not a morning person, unless by morning, you mean the last-ditch effort of waking up by 11:30am, and I usually don't fall asleep until midnight on an early night, so getting back into a routine of getting up only a few hours after I would prefer to fall asleep takes some serious discipline. Routine, for me, can be as confining as being wrapped in a straight-jacket. It can also be the only thing that gets me through good and bad times. And for as much as I would love to live a more bohemian lifestyle, setting my sail to take me wherever the wind may blow and all that other crunchy/groovy/I-live-in-a-van crap, I know that a reliable way of combating effects of depression is to keep myself doing good things with consistency. Taking supplements, working out, eating well, allowing for some down time for a movie or a book, these are all things I try to fit in at least every day, and now that I have to change my daily schedule to allow for a job that takes 8 hour out of what had been a laissez faire kind of existence for a few months, I have been doing things at completely different times.

For two days now, I've been back to working out first thing in morning, as in, the first thing I do after turning off my alarm clock and getting out of bed. I prefer quick and intense workouts anyway, so squeezing two rounds of Tabata clears my head and gets me functional faster than anything else at, again, the devil's ass-crack-of-dawn. I'm hoping to make this a regular thing every workday morning, since it's hard for me to burn out on short workouts, and I always work different muscles groups and incorporate different moves or weights with every round, keeping my system fresh and constantly recovering. Exercise has been something that has been in the far background of my mind for so long that it became a significant source of failure, and therefore, stress. Why "failure"? Because if I didn't get a workout into my day when I know for a fact that I had the time, energy, and opportunity to do so, I feel like I let myself down and begin berating myself, reminding myself that I will never succeed in anything if I don't make efforts to follow through when I should. You would think that I could find a way to make this language motivational instead of completely damaging, but that is not what I have learned in my almost 30 years on Earth. I learned that if I could and didn't then I am wrong and a failure. That's proving to be a difficult lesson to unlearn, but that isn't too surprising, since I took nearly 30 years to learn it in the first place!

Early today, I had an extra adjustment with a different chiropractor, and later today, I have my session with my therapist, so I certainly recognize that I am taking good care of myself physically. (This is on top of morning workouts and some better food choices now that I have a source of income again.) I've been learning new things and feel confident that even when I make a mistake, I am fixing it and learning how to prevent it again, so that's a good boost for my self-esteem and mental health. My oldest brother and his family are taking a road trip out to Colorado, so I get to meet my newest nephew this Sunday, and that certainly satisfies my emotional needs. So right now, I feel like things are clicking along very well. I know that it is an evolutionary thing to have that voice in my head that keeps me warned about how things may go wrong in the future, because then my brain can go into problem-solving-mode and hopefully keep myself alive if that ever happens, maybe even keep it from happening at all. I completely get that. I just wish that I could go for a long period of time without feeling like I need to engage in some superstitious behavior to keep myself in the good graces of The Whatever From High Atop The Thing. Why does it ever have to be difficult to allow for good moments to become the norm? Sometimes I'm concerned that I'm the only one who feels like this, but I wonder if this is a universal human trait. I'm not a pessimist at heart; I like to believe in the best of things and circumstances and people, even if they don't give me reason to. But I have also been in a crouch for so long that it's been much easier to assume that things will go wrong at the whims of The Whatever, and I don't like believing in that. I don't like who that makes me become, and if I can change that, I will.

Life Is Going On

I have been blessedly busy, which has kept me from dwelling on things I know would only send me down a rabbit hole lined with razor blades. The new job is going well so far, and it is something I can see myself doing for a year or two while I figure out my next move(s). Everyone in the office is nice, calm, patient, and helpful, and I don't yet have any tasks that are so impossible that I take endless blows to my slowly rebuilding self-esteem while I try and fail to figure out how to complete them. For the first time this year, things feel like they're calming down on the job front, perhaps settling into a steady rhythm that, instead of making me feel like I am trapped and going nowhere, give me a sense of much needed security and a chance to repair some confidence that has been leaking from me. I still have time in my day to take care of myself, and time to pursue projects that could take me where I've always wanted to be. The trick is reminding myself that things come to fruition when they do, and the moments when I feel like a failure may not always be accurate, especially if those moments only make me regress.

Rita has been gone for a few days. Well, gone and yet not, because we got her ashes back from the crematorium along with an impression of her paw print in plaster. Her paws had been riddled with cysts and sores for months, and they hurt her so badly that she hadn't been able to do much walking or standing by the end, which made her other health issues run rampant. The vet techs cleaned off one of the paws that hadn't been as affected for the paw print, but there was one small hair of hers that got stuck in the plaster. I had been crying, seeing the box that had the urn the held her remains, and then a little more when I saw the impression, until I noticed the hair. Something about fur, maybe because it gets everywhere, makes me laugh a bit. I've had that experience with other dogs that have lived out the length of their time on Earth, finding fur of theirs in random places after they've gone, and it always brings up a rush of emotions: loss of a friend, happiness that something of theirs is still around, and weird amusement that even if when they're gone, they're still managing to shed enough fur that it ends up in my shoes. What has been telling is that, even though I miss her so much and the house is not quite the same without her, I don't find myself so absorbed in loss that I can't stop crying. That means that, hard as it was, it was also the right choice; she had been in so much pain, and was so old that pouring money into treatment and drugs into her system would not mean much chance of recovery, and letting her go was the responsible, but more importantly, the kind thing to do.

And so life goes on. The differences between last week (where I spent an afternoon feeling every second that ticked by as a punch to the gut while in such a raw emotional state that I'm amazed I am still alive) to now (where I am sitting at a desk on a slow morning and sipping tea and feeling more at ease knowing that I don't have to worry about how to make a car insurance payment, a phone payment, buy gas, and still be able to eat at least once a day) are staggering. What bothers me is that, regardless of the events of my life being helpful or harmful, I still feel like I'm defining God as someone more like Santa Claus or some perverted idea of a Mythical Accountant, someone who is always watching me, evaluating my behavior and my choices, and deciding my future for me based on the results. I feel like I have to provide proof of my worth, rather than feeling like I'm worth the breath in my lungs by default. It's tiring to constantly feel like I have to fight for the simple moments of peace.

Bye, Rita

So much has happened today, and I don't have the mental energy to write well about all of it, so this is going to be a bit bullet-point-y, and will be returned to in the next couple of days for more attention.

Sunday night, I knew I had two things coming for me: a job interview (which could really save my bacon), and a tough decision to make about my dog Rita. Knowing that this potential high and probable low were going to be part of my day helped me prepare for it. When my alarm went off, I took about fifteen minutes to meditate before committing to getting up and ready. I chose to get through one thing at a time and not obsess about everything that was beyond my control. And here's how the day turned out:

• I got the job, which is full time and pays fairly well, and means I can still squeeze in time for my chiropractor and my therapist... and I start tomorrow
• I got a refund check back from a company (which, for legal reasons, will be unnamed) that did not deliver on the services they promised in their contract, and that whole matter is now officially finished, which is a huge weight off my mind
• Rita, after 11+ years of being an adorable goofball and hilarious Wookie-impersonator, had to be put to sleep-- she had been dramatically ill, lost 8 pounds in a little more than a week, could barely stand or walk, and even the vet said that their wasn't anything that could be done to pull her through

Today was the first day in a long time where I felt like people were connected to me. I had many friends and family share in my relief of finally having money coming back in and my hurt of having to say goodbye to a friend that had saved my life on more than one occasion. My oldest brother, who loved Rita so very much, had a hard time hearing about the news over the phone (he lives in Indiana), and for a little sister, hearing your big brother cry is scary stuff.

Since I have to be up early for my new job tomorrow, I need to wrap it up here and get ready for bed. After so much crying, falling asleep should be easier than it was last night, where I had some massive unknowns ticking through my head, keeping me grinding my teeth for much longer than I expected.

Rita? You know how much I love you, and always will.

My last shot of my Rita, a puppy to the very, very end

Suicide

What a stupid week.

I somehow managed to keep myself from going completely crazy Monday night after my first job interview in months. No, I kept the crazy at bay until Tuesday, when I found out the job that a monkey could do went to someone else with more experience, and I went from feeling nervous excitement at the prospect of starting something new and getting some security back into my life, to feeling like the biggest failure in the history of the world because I couldn't get a full time job taking pictures... of hats. Not even artistic pictures of hats hand-stitched by grandmas who are selling their crafts as a way of raising money for children affected by type one diabetes. I'm talking about pictures to catalog baseball caps of different sports teams for different distributors. And when it came down to me and one other person, it went to the one other person. So I crashed. Hard.

I have never been flippant about suicide, because it is difficult to imagine a more soul-sucking position to be in than wanting to take action to end your own life, and the toll it takes on the living is unbearable. I've spent a staggering amount of time wanting to have never been born, or thinking the atoms that currently make up me would be better used almost anywhere else. But I've also been so low that I've planned how I was going to do it. I've gone through the actions of withdrawing from life, saying my goodbyes, getting some of my affairs in order, and figured out exactly what I was going to use to kill myself. And here's the twisted part: I've thought about it for so long that I realized I don't want certain kinds of death because they might hurt someone else or they might be too painful or take too long or require too much bravery to go through with it, so that leaves me with pills... and I'm a health nut, so I don't have any pills in my house! I actually berate myself for not being able to go through with the suicide I would want, or thinking that if I hurt someone else in the process, I'd lose some cosmic points!

There have been four times in my life that I have been a breath away from making an attempt. I've held the contents of an entire bottle of aspirin in my hand. I've nearly driven my car off a cliff and into a river 50 feet below. I've been checked into an outpatient facility for a 72-hour psych hold. And this week, after hearing that I didn't get the job, I felt like the entire world and any force that is responsible for making it go on had turned its back on me, and I came close to taking my last remaining dollars and buying a bottle of pills.

And right when I wanted nothing more than to stop breathing and be done with it, a little piece of my brain took control of my fingers, grabbed my phone, and called my therapist to check if I could move my appointment from Wednesday to that evening. He had two spots open due to some cancellations, and I had to keep it together for five hours before going to see him, so I put on a guilty pleasure movie (hello, "Big Bird in China") and let myself take a nap until then. I wish I could say it was my survival instinct that will fight no matter what, a part of my identity that is as hardened and badass as Chuck Norris. I wish I could say it was the voice of the Divine, giving me a drop of hope to get me through the worst of it, and giving me belief that things will get better soon. But what it actually was... was me depressing myself out of it. I somehow used my depression to tell myself to keep going. I gave up on being miserable, and figured I might as well talk about it to someone who could help.

After my session, I drove over to the lake and sat on the rocks on one side of the shore. For ten minutes or so, I just sat there and watched the small waves ease in and out, not thinking about anything in the slightest. I managed to close all of the programs usually running in my head, and focus on watching and listening to the water. Then, when I felt sore from sitting, I got up and walked around the shore, looking for a small stone or two to take with me. When I was a kid, I lived close to either a Great Lake or the Atlantic Ocean, and used to collect stones from the beaches. It's soothing to shut down all systems and do one simple task for a little while. I found two about the same size and color, and made the walk back to my car and drove home. I ate some scrambled eggs and had some tea and took a shower and read for a bit and went to sleep, and woke up the next morning after sleeping pretty well. I gave myself a day of staying in pajamas and playing with dogs and watching some cooking shows. I didn't bully myself into feeling better, or force myself to be grateful for anything, or remind myself of how badly things felt the day before and conclude that I should stay as  miserable as possible because getting better wouldn't be worth the trouble. I just existed.

I've done this exercise many times, keeping myself in a place where I simply exist. It has saved my life more times than I can probably recall. I don't know how it has worked for me and can't explain why I feel better when I do this, but I highly recommend it. There are no spiritual overtones to it, even though it resembles mindfulness, which is certainly is a huge part of many Eastern philosophies. The closest thing I can compare it to is walking with no destination. Nothing competitive about it, like walking on a treadmill to hopefully get in some exercise. No music or self-talk to distract from the action. No active searching for anything, either in the mind or in the world. Just putting one foot down at a time at the tempo that feels best.

There is an eclectic fraternity of those that deal firsthand with suicide. It's comprised of people you wouldn't automatically assume would be in the group, and it is not glamorous in the slightest. This is not a club you want to be part of. And there are too many in it, and too many new additions. If you have read this, please remember that you can look at a human being and never know all that happens in their heads, and maybe consider being a bit more gentle with them. You do not know what it's taken for them to still be here.

I have made it through this week, and I already know next week is going to have some pretty extreme highs and lows. What will get me through is reminding myself that all I have to do is exist, and nothing more, and I will be okay.

Superstition: Great Song, But Stupid Way of Life

I had a job interview this morning for a company that needs a photo coordinator. It would be full time, which would be great right about now. I've gone on many job interviews and auditions, and once I'm actually in the process of the interview or the monologue or cold read or whatever, I'm at ease. It's the getting to and returning from that wig me the hell out.

One of the first things I find myself doing is planning what my life would be like with a new job or a new play. It might seem proactive, or the trait of someone with a positive attitude and plenty of confidence, but it's covering up a huge wad of anxiety. "This will surely be The Thing that changes my life in all the right ways, and here are all the things that will be different because of this one new Thing!" I start memorizing the route to the building, start thinking about where I'll go for lunch, start wondering if I can get the same parking space every day. Pretty soon, I associate all of that nervous energy with the drive itself, or the music I'm listening to on the way there, or what I was wearing, and if things go badly, I disassociate from those things immediately. (I actually have a bit of a shit-list of music I can't listen to anymore for fear of triggering some cosmic force of smite and wrath that will actively seek out the parts of my life that don't suck and destroy them with lightning and misery.) Then, on the way back home, I repeat the whole process... in the few moments when I'm not obsessively nit-picking over every nuance of the interview or audition.

You would think that the solution would be to down-play the whole ordeal. "This is simply a job interview/an audition, and does not completely define the rest of your life. It is one moment, and will be a constructive process no matter the outcome; it is by practicing uneasy moments that they become easier." Yeeeeeeeah, nooooooooo. I downplay things, and it only makes things worse, because by the time I realize I've been playing it cool, I have also realized how desperate I am and how much I needed something and how badly I was counting on The Thing to help me out of the miserable goop of depression and fear and stress that feels like it's slowly absorbing my being.

Why does any of this thinking matter? It matters because it becomes behavior that actively shapes the choices I make and the direction my life is going. I get too caught up in the subtleties of a moment, and dwell on them so long that they lose perspective and become twisted with new meaning, like, "You crossed your hands on the desk, which probably made you look too severe and judgmental, so you should never do that again", or, "You went to the grocery store afterwards but before you heard if you got the job or not, so if you don't get the job, you can never go there again." (See a pattern developing?) I even put off writing about all this because I won't hear about this job until later this evening or even tomorrow, and that's several hours of me going slightly insane, during which I will likely do something that I will associate with a good or bad outcome after I find out if I have a job or not.

I am a believer in the idea that your external world is a reflection of your internal status, and that your thoughts have a measurable impact on your surroundings. It might seem a bit magical, but it's also part of human nature... wanting to matter, wanting to feel like one little thing has more power than it probably does because it helps you get through the day. It's also an idea that can get me into trouble quickly. Objectively, I know I was professional and engaging and a good candidate for this job, but that gets tucked away into a dusty box in the bottom drawer of a far-removed filing cabinet in an unused office that smells faintly of sawdust and mold so that I have plenty of room to go crazy.

Just yesterday, I found myself saying that I feel like I'm being punished for taking a chance a few months earlier and quitting a steady job (even though it was horrible) to pursue my lifelong dream of becoming a professional actor and singer, because now I am in a worse position than I have been in a long time. I feel like I'm either being completely ignored by the one Being that could help me, or I am being picked on by the one Being that could help me because I made a mistake. That is a shitty way to live, and I would really really really like some proof that I'm wrong about this.

More Sleep and No Nightmares

Okay. Gave myself a break, and let myself catch up on sleep, and things sorted themselves out some.

The morning after I wrote my last entry (which started making me beat up my fragile ego like a gang goes after a nerd in a deserted alley so I stopped writing it as quickly as I could), I heard from the temp agency about an interesting job opportunity. They're looking for full time, for enthusiasm, and if we fit there is a bonus and benefits. I have an interview set up with them on Monday morning, and if it doesn't go great, I plan on stopping by a retail store on my way home and picking up an application. Knowing that I have more options than I thought I did the day before helped pull me out of the hole, and having a reason to leave the house looking put together and professional is very much needed.

With my career (or lack thereof) in such a shoddy state, I've been stress eating far too much in the way of ice cream and chocolate. I adopted a Paleo lifestyle years ago, but have always had an exception or two, especially depending on my income. Grains and legumes were surprisingly easy to give up, and adding more nuts and veggies was a snap, and I had already weened myself off most dairy, and I was already someone that looked at ingredient lists on anything that was boxed or bagged, so that behavior certainly aided my new eating habits. Thing is, I looooooooove ice cream and chocolate. I can't always afford the stuff I should eat when I want an indulgence, stuff that doesn't have tons of sugar and soya or soy lecithin or whey in it, so I cave and get crap, and I'm seeing the result: an extra twenty pounds added over 7 months. I've always had a solid build with most of me comprised of muscle, and plenty of fat where, as a lady type, I would need it. But with the sugar and the dairy and the sneaky bits of soy, I have gained too much fat, and lost the tone and endurance I used to have because I've had a tough time with injuries (foot, sacrum, shoulder/neck). Something I want to get back into more is running, or I should say, sprints, since running distance has never been appealing to me despite years of trying to make it a form of stress relief. I went to a local track and gave suicides a go, but after 8-9 right on top of each other, I actually hurt my foot so badly, I was limping for three days. Lesson learned. There's a track that's closer to my home with bleachers and a better section of grass, and I was able to do three different Tabata rounds of sprints there, so I will be making that a bigger part of my routine. Once I get some money coming in again (fingers crossed for Monday!), I plan on getting a couple of new workout tools: a suspension trainer and a tire/tube for more bodyweight and actual weight exercises. I've used suspension trainers before, and was considering making my own, but found one on Amazon that would be perfect. I also found inflatable rubber tubes at a local drugstore for about $12 apiece, and know that I could fill one with sand or water and voila!, instant workout toy. That'll be a good addition, since I can control how much weight goes into it, so I have something adaptable.

I feel better today, and that comes from things I've been working on coming to fruition. This is something I want to see in my life much much more. Too much of my time feels like I'm killing myself for something I want without making a damn dent. I want some success!

Working

I'm looking for a job yet again, the fourth this year. That brings out baaaaaaad traits in me, because I am now opperating out of a place of depseration, and I feel terrible making any choices when I'm this frightened about my future. After talking to an agent at a temp agency this morning and hearing how bleak my prospects are, I've spent most of the day in bed and wrapped up in pounds of blankets. (This is also after a poor night of sleep, and drizzly weather for the last three days.)

Money and I have a bad relationship. At no point in my adult life have I ever been capable of making all my ends meet longer than 6 or 7 months. I do not live extravagantly by any means; I've had one job that paid my enough to be above the poverty line, but I was in bad shape while I had that job; all this means I'm nearly 30 and haven't been able to live in my own place, and have spent about 28 years living with my mom, which has not been good for either of us. I like work, but by this point in my life, I would have hoped to have been working towards what I really want, and not working to stay alive.

I actually have to stop writing now because I'm triggering a panic attack. Short entry, I know, but the longer I look at what I've written, the more I feel like I want to completely give up. 

A Rainy and Contemplative Morning

Just as I was brushing my newest dog outside, the gentle mist that tickled when it hit my skin became actual rain that brought our grooming session to an immediate end. Good thing was, she was pretty much cleaned up, and was happy to go back inside.

I'm spending much of today getting my house in order, in more ways than one. Since my brother and his fiance and their hyder-adorable baby boy are visiting in about a month, and it's the first time I will get to meet my new nephew, I'm cleaning up a bunch of spaces in the house that desperately need it. I had a job last year of cleaning RVs and mobile homes that were so disgusting, I'm amazed I was allowed to go into some of them without a hazmat suit. So if I don't have to clean at home, I won't, or I'll at least put it off for quite some time. There is no way that I could or would ever be as filthy as these former RV owners anyway, since I don't cook squirrel in my kitchen, or chain smoke in my bedroom, or throw mud around my house like I'm working on my interpretation of a Jackson Pollock.

Along with the literal sense of getting my house in order, I have a few money-related things to tend to today, like getting a freaking job already. I've been out of work since May, and it's taking its toll, that's for damned sure. The temp agency has good hopes for me, so I'll be chatting with my agent later. She is so reassuring, and very confident at a time when I could use all the confidence I can get my hands on. I have to call a company that still owes me money, too, contiuning an ordeal I've had with them for most of June. This is the really emotionally tricky area, because I immediately feel like a victim when I have to deal with them, something that does not bring out the good in me. It's a trait that has been tied tightly to my depression, feeling victimized. It can quickly spiral into much more dangerous mindsets, like trying to prove how much of a victim of my own life I am, and then trying to outdo anyone else that feels the same about their own lives. If Competitive Martyrdom was an Olyimpic event, I would have a few gold medals by now for sure.

I've had a good set of days, and all thanks to a lot of work and awareness. I allowed myself to eat some garbage I ordinarily would avoid as if it were Flambéed Plague (gluten and white sugar), I got my sleep schedule back to normal, and I've been active in shaping what will come next for me. Doesn't mean all my earthly woes are over, nor does it mean I should be on constant alert for the next disaster to come steaming in and sucker punch me in the solar plexus. Just have to keep taking things a day at a time. It's sometimes impossible to exist without mentally time-traveling to past or future events so that I can have a good fit about how much I suck, so I try to have a lot of patience for anyone else that has to remind themselves to live in The Now. This whole "being alive" thing is serious stuff, huh?

Post Holiday

Haven't written in here in a while. A lot of nice things going on, which is always a good distraction.

I don't know what it is about early July and weddings, but three couples either related to me or just about now have anniversaries in what is this year a three-day weekend. My brother and sister-in-law were married 7 years ago today, and two of the kids in the family that's lived with us in three different states have their respective anniversaries on the 3rd, now that one of the younger of the kids got married on Friday. A beautiful outdoor ceremony, and a fun dinner and reception afterwards. They even played a song for the older sibling and his wife for their anniversary. Lots of dancing kiddos and one sweetly drunken Scot, and that makes for a good time. Then, last night as I check Facebook before winding down, I see that a friend of mine in Denver just accepted her boyfriend's proposal! Now that's four different couples I know that have something marriage related to celebrate this time of year!

Me? I cuddled up with my sedated dogs and had a "John Adams" marathon. No offense to my friends and family that have such big events happening, but I like my tradition better. No sweaty, drunken, smoking, rude crowds, and no getting eaten to death by mosquitos while waiting for two hours for a 20 minute fireworks display, just a marvelous miniseries marathon, and warm-n-snuggly pooches. This is not to say that we couldn't hear the fireworks (thus the sedation), or even see some of them from the backyard. I happen to like fireworks on New Years' Eve better. More fun to watch fireworks with hot chocolate and wrapped up in a blanket.

Surprisingly, depression has been at bay nicely for a few days now, which has been a rarity for a few months now. Many stressors are either finished (timetable) or are lowered significantly by a taking a few actions. I will gladly appreciate these days, and try my absolute damnedest to keep them going and/or not be devastated if they fade in the future. I know for a fact that I'm working my ass off, so it's okay to be a little bummed if something makes me stumble a bit; I'll just pick myself up and keep going.

For the rest of the day, I plan on keeping this sense of calm I have right now. It will take work, but being miserable all the time takes work too, and this is better.

Light Stream

Yesterday, as part of preparing for EMDR sessions in the future, I learned another technique called "Light Stream". It's based of yogic principles of visualization and body awareness. As a Reiki master and someone with a sporadic relationship with yoga, this was relatively easy to do. The hard part is putting it into practice when it's most needed... in other words, when I'm down in the craplands and am having a miserable time trying to see a way out of them.

Case and point: today, I had an appointment with a temp agency that I have used before, only to discover that right now, there isn't anything that fits my skill set, and I'm going to have to wait a while before finding something. That brings up a WHOLE BUNCHA issues that follow me around anyway and tend to smack me in the face when I'm not paying attention to them. Worth, self-esteem, the direction my life is going, where I want my life to be already, finances, resources, time, failure... and before I know it, I want to crawl into bed, wrap myself in pounds of blankets, curl up, and cry until I fall asleep. What better time than to try this technique?

While in my car (admittedly not the best place to do this, since it requires more concentration that I'd be able to use while driving through a construction zone), I identified how my body was feeling as I was emotionally bludgeoning myself with all of these worries. I noticed how different muscles tensed or sagged, if places felt colder or hotter, and how my breathing felt. Then I pictured a warm and colored light (my favorite color and the color I associate the most with healing) entering me through the top of my head and covering me, filling areas that feel empty, smoothing rough or jagged spots, and helping me feel calmer and more steady.

At first glance, this might seem like avoidance. I make that argument because there are times I think that myself. "Well, since I can't deal with any of this, I might as well make myself feel happy for a little while." But truthfully, I struggle with being objective when it comes to my well-being. It can be hard to see the value of giving yourself a break and allowing for a few moments of calm and peace when your surrounding life is a mess. Are you letting yourself get used to a bad situation? Are you lying to yourself in the hopes that your pain will go away on its own? Are you right in giving yourself time to heal or distance from the problem to see it more accurately? Much of what motivates me is the need to be right or perfect, and it is torture. I have areas of my life where I can use that drive for my own betterment, but if I don't even have the chances to put that perfectionism in the right place, then it has to go somewhere, and that somewhere is usually one of my many fears and doubts about myself. Instead of perfectionism, I attack my ego until it is left as bloodied and raw as roadkill. And I think it's helpful. That's the worst part.

It is not wrong to give yourself permission to feel better. It is a good thing to want more peace in your brain when it normally looks like a battleground. This is a technique I will be practicing a lot, and I have confidence that it will help.